


A Simple Truth

by BetweenStories



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 06:22:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18794728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetweenStories/pseuds/BetweenStories
Summary: Quentin Coldwater thought that discovering magic and being accepted  into Brakebills University would be the end of all his troubles. He was dead wrong. After he dies saving his best friend from possession and protecting the people he loves, he is brought back to life with a new perspective. In this short story, Quentin tries to help his best friend Eliot heal from his trauma while they explore some unanswered truths about their relationship.





	A Simple Truth

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from The Magicians TV series, which is trademarked by SyFy. The characters were originally created and owned by Lev Grossman author of The Magicians.

He held the black and white coffee mug between his hands. Rise and Grind Sunshine was scrawled on the face of it. Cute. The heat from his coffee mercifully warmed his palms. Since he got back he always felt slightly cold. Most days he stayed in front of the fire with hot drinks to get the feeling of chill out of his body. It wasn’t particularly cold outside either. He knew it must be hard on everyone to walk from 70 degree weather to a heated house. Alice thinks it will go away with time. 

He tugged his dark blue hoodie closer to his chest as he turned around to see if he was alone. Dean Fogg had lent them this house to stay in while they figured things out. No one wanted to go back to the loft. It was comfortable enough. One of those suburban bungalows at the end of a culs-de-sac with built in bookshelves and french doors. The type of place his mother’s friends would love. It was ok. But it didn’t feel like home. It wasn’t the cottage at Brakebills. Most importantly it had Dean Fogg level protection spells so at the very least he could sleep at night. Kady had added plants around the living room and little succulents on the windowsills for Julia. She liked that type of thing more and more these days. When she came to visit she would lovingly pet them, as if in some way it soothed her. 

His foot knocked over a stack of several hard cover books.

“Shit-”

They were heaped up in piles around his feet and chair. It felt like he would never get through them all. He wasn’t sure he even had the motivation to do so. It was important, but how much time had he spent pouring over hundred year old magical texts? Always looking for some crap to stop some crappy situation. How much time had he spent doing this instead of living? He set his coffee down and, groaning, leaned forward to set the stack right again. 

“Hi Q.”

He snapped up and jerked around, his waist contorting in an unnatural position as his elbow swung out in the wrong direction. The coffee cup, having been knocked from the end table, landed on the floor, resulting in a broken handle. Behind him, he could see a tall familiar shadow. Far too still for his once energetic presence. 

“God damn-Eliot. Could you make noise when you enter the room?”

“Sorry,” he whispered.

The demand came out too harsh. Eliot still wore the monster’s clothes, a gray t-shirt that said fart squirrel on it with a skunk and black sweatpants with a zip up. He hadn’t even tried to pull his hair back today, so it swung in his face, the curls creating a shadow reminiscent of his possesed demeanor. Dean Fogg had sent over Eliot’s clothes weeks ago and yet, for some god awful reason, he would absentmindedly still choose the monster’s outfits over his own. His whole attitude was off to be honest. He refused to cast for even the smallest reasons. As if he was afraid that casting a tiny spell would cause his hands to explode. He would jump even at the sight of magic. 

“It must be hard to...see this…” He flourished his hand in front of his face sarcastically. 

“El, I thought I would never see you again. I’m fine with...that,” he pointed to Eliot’s tired and sad, but nonetheless, his, face. He was lying though. Just a little. There were moments when Eliot looked too exhausted and empty that reminded him of the monster. Bringing back memories of all the pain and fear. But it was Eliot now. Truly. For his sake he would need to stop seeing anything else. “However, maybe it is time to get rid of the clothes,” he suggested.

“I need to do laundry. This is what I had Quentin,” he spat out. “Well I am glad at least one of us still likes my face,” he said, quickly moving past my comment about the clothes. “Every time I look in the mirror I see…” His eyes became unfocused as he turned to a memory Quentin did not have access to. 

“How was counseling?” he asked trying to bring him back to the present. 

“Lovely. I always enjoy having some strange Hannibal Lecter type encourage me to talk about my murder flashbacks.Whoever heard of a magician therapist? Absolutely ridiculous.”

Quentin laughed, “He isn’t Hannibal Lecter, El. Fogg thinks it will help or something, I dunno.”

“Really? Did therapists ever help YOU?”

He sighed. “I dunno El. Sometimes it made things better.”

“Well, I saw him get a hard on today when I told him about remembering how I ripped the heart out of a god. It was awful….but kinda hot. Hm, maybe I have a new kink.” 

Quentin appreciated the attempt at joking. Even if it was barely a shadow of the former banter he loved so much about Eliot. He was trying and he knew it took everything he had. He remembered the mug on the floor and quickly tutted out a minor mending spell to fix it. A warm sensation filled his stomach like bath water. 

“I see you’ve paid a visit to Alice,” Eliot said waving his hands towards the books.  
“Yeah, she pulled some stuff for me that might help with the reservoir situation. I need to try and see what might be causing the time jump back in Fillory,” he sighed.

“And how is she? The newly appointed busty librarian?”

“Ha, I didn’t know you cared? Are you friends now?”

“No. But she was less of an A-Type controlling twat following your death so I don’t hate her as much.”

“Really? Maybe I should have stayed dead for the sake of your newly found friendship?” Quentin chuckled as he shifted the books around.

“Q?”

“Yep?”

“Maybe, never fucking say that again, ok? Good. Glad we had this talk.”

He lifted his eyes to meet Eliot’s. He saw his jaw clenched, his eyes glassy and tense with too many emotions.  
“Ok, yeah. I’m sorry. You are right. I didn’t mean it. Um, Alice hasn’t decided whether she will take Zelda up on her offer by the way. She is just considering what it would mean.”

“I see. And how do you feel about it? Do you think she should take the offer?” 

“Yes. I do. She could do so much good there El. She belongs there.”

“So you don’t regret your...decision?” he asked pointedly.

“I see the therapist is rubbing off on you. No I don’t. I really care about her Eliot. I always will. But our lives are going in different directions. I saw that while I was...with Penny.”

“Dead…”

“Yes, El, while I was dead. I know she is capable of brilliant things and I am glad other people will see that too. I will always care about her but….I am happy we are just… friends.”  
“You are a good man Quentin Coldwater...with a nice ass.”

Quentin snorted as he bent over to pick up another book. “Thanks, I guess.”

He couldn’t focus on the book he was reading. Josh and Fen were still missing in Fillory and Margo was out collecting information. He knew he needed to keep looking for things that would help, but he could hear Eliot breathing behind him, being too quiet and thoughtful. Quentin knew that for Eliot thinking too much right now was the pinnacle of pain. He closed the book and turned to look at Eliot.

“You know...we...we should go somewhere.”

“And where is it that we will be going dungeon master?”

“I don’t know. Want to go get FroYo?”

“Oh dear god, Q, could you be more basic?”

“Okay, not FroYo. Ummm…” He thought for a second when the perfect place came to mind. “Actually I know where to go.”

“Alright, I am intrigued. Blow me away.”

“Well, first go upstairs and change. I washed your clothes and put them in your room.”

“How domestic of you. I will need to get you a little maid outfit. I am still surprised I had any clothes left. I figured Todd had stolen them all.” 

Quentin rolled his eyes, “Hurry up.”

“Bossy,” Eliot purred as he took the stairs to the second floor. 

 

****

 

The sound of the car door slamming echoed off the trees. 

“Whereee areeee weeee? I think I just saw some hill people.” Eliot whined. 

Quentin had come to this place with his dad on a fishing trip. He forgot it was so close to where they had been relocated. Set back a little ways from the lake was a rental cabin at the end of a long dirt road. A lopsided dock jutted out into the water disrupting the lake’s placidity. He wondered if this what it was like for settlers. Nothing but a shelter and hundreds of trees. The forest was so thick and overgrown you could barely tell it had ever been touched by humans. He grabbed the blanket and food from the back of the car.

“So what is the plan here? We aren’t hunting are we? Because I am not designed for hard labor.” Eliot asked. 

“Stop being so dramatic Eliot. You grew up on a farm and we used to live in the woods remember? You survived,” he quipped.

Eliot grew still, slowly smiling as he realized what Quentin had done. “Well technically I did die.”

“Not from the woods. You always said that the silence was kind of peaceful.” 

“I also recall saying it was kinda creepy but...thank you.” He turned around slowly in a circle. Taking a deep breath and turning his face up to the sun. Quentin watched as his shoulders slightly relaxed. “Does anyone live here?”

“No. It is just a rental cabin. I came here a few times with my dad. I can pick the lock. We were here later in the season though...I remember more flowers.” 

He started towards the porch in front of the cabin as Eliot slowly trailed behind him. Quentin quickly casted a lock pick spell and slipped into the cabin. He emerged with a towel and a small folding chair. He flipped the chair out and positioned it in a warm spot of light on the porch. “Have a seat El.” 

He suspiciously makes his way up the stairs one step at a time.

“Why. What do you plan on doing to me, Coldwater?” 

Quentin balances a small case on a patio table, flipping it open to reveal a hair kit. “I….am going to cut your hair.”

“Ha! You aren’t touching my hair Q. Do you have any idea how much work it takes to make me look as good as I do?”

“Right now I would say the work is zero.” 

“Ouch Quentin. That wasn’t a very nice thing to say. But...true. I suppose I don’t look...quite as good as I usually do.”

“It isn’t about looking good Eliot. It is about looking like you. Come on, it’s time.”

“But what if it doesn’t matter that I look like me? What if it is just me kidding myself and there is no me anymore? What if I...am something else?”  
“El, that isn’t true. This whole thing...of course it has changed you. But you are still you. I know that. Even if you don’t.”

He looks me up and down before doing a slightly off balanced pivot into the folding chair. 

“I guess you are right. I have been cramping Bambi’s style lately anyway. Do you know what you are doing?”

Quentin hears the whirl of the clippers as he pushes the power button.

“Yeah, we are magicians. Of course I looked up a learning spell for hair cutting. Oh actually you need to...um….” he hesitated.

“What?”

“I need you to take your shirt off so I don’t get hair all over it.”

“Are you trying to get me naked Coldwater? Because my barber has never had me remove my shirt before.”

“You know what, I am just going to do it...your shirt can suck it.”

“Stop,” He raised his hand, “You will not ruin this shirt. It is a pure silk blend.” He stood stood up to take off his vest, shirt, and tie. In true Eliot fashion, he removed each item with painfully slow precision, making a show of each movement. As his purple silk shirt slipped from his broad shoulders Quentin could see the raised scar on his stomach where Margo’s battle axes had sliced through his skin. 

He sighed, “See something you like?”

“Did it hurt?” Quentin asks. He wanted to touch it, to make it seem real. It stood out so starkly settled against his otherwise perfect skin. 

“It was excruciating.” He moved his hand across his abdomen and traced the scar delicately. “But it doesn’t anymore.” He smiled to reassure Quentin that he was healed and all in one piece. 

He slid back onto the chair while Quentin placed a towel over his shoulders. He ran his hands through Eliot’s hair to judge the length, his fingers lightly grazing the tops of his ears. He tenderly cut away chunks of Eliot’s beautiful hair, crafting sections into his signature coiffed curls. He trimmed the hair at the base of his head, steadying his head with his thumb on his skull and fingers resting on the curve of his neck. His skin was warm, having soaked up the earlier sun in a way Quentin’s refused to at the moment. He could feel Eliot’s breathing reverberating through the side of his neck. His body was so full of life. Quentin realistically hadn’t been dead for very long before Julia had brought him back. But since then he had become hyper focused on little details of the human form. Which is why he couldn’t help but lean forward to smell Eliot’s hair, to take in the delicate notes of sandalwood and vanilla or delicately kiss the back of his head so he could feel the satiny strands glide across his lips. 

Eliot didn’t move. He stayed still and didn’t question for a second why Quentin was invading his personal space. Quentin remembered a time in his first year at Brakebills where touching someone like this would have been out of the question. But Eliot’s addiction for physical contact had rubbed off on him and now he doesn’t even think about it. 

“You are all done,” he told Eliot, patting him on the shoulder. Before he could move away Eliot kissed the top of his hand absentmindedly and picked up the hand held mirror Quentin had found in the bathroom. 

“Well I suppose I do look better. You’re welcome.”

Quentin laughed as he moved about to clean up the porch. When he was done and he emerged from the cabin where he could see Eliot out in the yard. He had gotten dressed but opted to leave the vest and tie hanging from the porch rail. The blanket was spread out against the grass with the food basket planted on one corner. Quentin would have thought he was dancing had he not seen him tutting. He was casting a spell that Quentin couldn’t quite place. Suddenly the yard began to move as wild flowers bloomed in waves. Quentin was flabbergasted at the sight of it all. 

“El...you casted.”

“Yeah, well I couldn’t waste my talent. It is a disservice to the world.”

“Yes. It is. You truly are one of the best magicians I know.”

His eyes darted away nervously to avoid the sincerity of the comment. 

“Hungry? I am...starving. We should eat...or do anything that...doesn’t involve you looking at me like that.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Sit down.” Eliot threw himself down gracefully on the blanket. He grabbed a piece of prosciutto and stuffed it in his mouth while quickly moving to spread peach preserves on a slice of bread. They sat there eating in silence and slowly Eliot’s movements became less desperate and rushed. 

“Eliot...what...what was it...um….you know...like? In there….did you...um...feel pain?” He asks nervously, wanting to understand what Eliot went through without hurting him further.

“It wasn’t all bad. I was able to relive some really great memories for example. Some not so great…”

“Like what?”

“Do you remember that day after we got back from getting the key in alternate timeline Fillory. You know, after we solved the mosaic?” He twisted a piece of grass between his fingers. He stared at the lake like it was hypnotizing him, barely blinking.

“Yeah, kinda hard to forget remembering 50 years of your life.”

“I mean what you said to me. About proof of concept?”

“Yeah, I was being...stupid…”

“No. You weren’t. You were being honest. I was being...I dunno...weak?”

“Wait...what do mean? What are you talking about?”

“I realized while I was possessed by the monster that I might not have been honest with myself about how much being in that alternate timeline meant to me Q. I didn’t want to get hurt. I didn’t want to...to watch you...change your mind. I don’t think I could have taken it Q.”

Quentin watched as Eliot tried to get all the words out. His face had too many emotions running across it and he couldn’t completely understand what he was talking about. Eliot was always quicker in understanding than him. 

“Q, when we figure out how to get back to Fillory and get our thrones back, I wonder...if you would stay with me for awhile and rule or something? You never spent too much time on the thrones with us. Would you stay with me for awhile? I promise I will do some of your nerd boy questing with you as well.”

“Of...of course Eliot. I am still confused about where this is coming from…”

“We spent 50 years together in another timeline Q. We lived it but at the same time we didn’t. I want you with me. In this timeline. I want to live...now...with you. I am sorry I pretended your feelings weren’t real that day. They were. We both knew it. It apparently took me getting possessed by a goddamn serial killer with a Starbucks fetish to admit it but...I get it now. I...need you Q.”

He didn’t answer him. He just leaned forward and kissed him. Maybe he should have thought about it. After Eliot had shut him down he thought he may have been right. Maybe it was just residual magic? The problem was, it had never truly faded. But over time he found ways to ignore it. So maybe he should have thought about whether Eliot was right, and whether he was really the kind of guy to commit to another man. But he didn’t. Because he didn’t need to. Logical or not he just knew this was what needed to happen so he gave in, so terribly easily. 

He pushed Eliot onto his back. He could feel his heart pounding into Quentin’s chest as Eliot moved his hands from the back of his neck and through his hair, forcing their lips together without interruption. Quentin felt guilty as he had made an effort to not ruin his shirt earlier. Now, in his impatience, he undid two buttons and then ripped the rest out of the buttonholes. He would figure out if the buttons survived later. Quentin slipped his hands into Eliot’s now open shirt to run them along his smooth stomach avoiding the side with the scar. Eliot grazed his lips against the side of his neck. He could feel his breath against his skin, his nose lightly touching his earlobe. The wildflowers that Eliot had grown started to lose their focus, blurring into one mass of tricolor, the sound of the lake became ambient noise. Eliot ran his hands underneath Quentin’s hoodie and t-shirt pulling him closer into his body. The same warm sensation from earlier returned to the pit of his stomach and spread to the surface of his skin, like he was mending something small and important that had been broken for too long. Like he was returning something back to its proper form. Quentin could taste the peaches from the preserves like a faint memory. It was as simple as that. He couldn’t remember why he thought it should have been any different. They were right back where they were supposed to be. That simple.


End file.
